Rooster crouched in the tyre tread of his Pajero, discreetly smoking a roll-your-own. Mid-fifties, clad in pocket-rich khaki, he affected a kind of ruggedness. The flare in his blue eyes hadn’t gone out. It must have had something to do with the international birders he hauled up Iron Range in Cape York, to twitch and photograph its spectacular birdlife.

I’d put substantial trust in Rooster to guide me to the lair of the golden bowerbird. The encounter began with me rising at five am to drive to the Julatten fire station...